


The Boy Who Could See Secrets

by Isika



Category: No Fandom
Genre: Controlling, Curses, Dark Love, Fairy Tale Elements, Fantasy, Fiction, Literature, M/M, Mind Break, Original Fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-03
Updated: 2018-03-03
Packaged: 2019-03-26 07:24:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13852863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Isika/pseuds/Isika
Summary: A fairytale like story about a blind boy who can only identify people by their darkest secrets. He is hated by the villagers and his only companion is a mysterious boy named Simon who lives in his shadow.





	The Boy Who Could See Secrets

The Boy Who Could See Secrets  
And  
The Boy Who Had None

~~~

 

In a small country, in a small town, there lived a boy known to all and avoided by most. Though blind and small, weak and alone, everyone feared his presence. For the boy had a gift, or a curse as they would call it, to see secrets best left unheard.

Instead of a face to remember a person the boy could see their hearts. Instead of seeing the Baker, plump and round, the boy saw his secret all too clearly.

“He cheats on his wife.” The boy said aloud when coming face to face with the Baker.

“He lies!” The man shouted, but all knew better. For everyone knew what this boy said was true. No one could deny that secrets he did see.

“She steals from her customers.” Is how he referred to the Seamstress.

“He likes men.” He greeted the Stable boy.

Everyone knew that the boy only spoke truths, no matter the crime, no matter the humiliation; no one could deny their secrets.

Behind the woods hidden well, was a cottage on a hill, where the boy lived alone. Only one brave woman came to see him, bearing fresh fruits and bread just baked. An elderly soul with withered hands and hair of gray, but a heart that was so kind.

“A widow who killed her husband.” He mumbled in a shallow voice. Though the secret was dark and unsettling, the widow didn’t deny her crime. Her husband was a drunk who beat her children; no one would deny that he deserved to die.

So, alone in the cottage with no décor on the walls, the woman began cooking while the boy only sat there. His eyes open as he searched through blank thoughts; his face ever motionless. His body was as still as stone statues and no feelings at all in his heart. No words could be spoken for the boy never talked. No one knew why he could only speak secrets.

No one knew that the boy was aware of his gift, aware of his surroundings, aware of the people. He could hear the crackle of the fire and the whistle of wind, for he was not deaf. He knew what the villagers called him and he knew they hated him for spilling their sins. Still, all he could manage to speak were the things they kept hidden.

Once the woman was gone, the cottage grew restless. The shadows sang to him and they whispered of someone that hides in their comforts. For the boy, unknown to him, was never really alone. Wherever he had walked in life there had always been someone standing in his shadow.

It was another boy who was known to all, but avoided by few. He was less of a threat, but still a presence to be wary of. He was taller than the blind boy and he always wore a smile, but it was cheeky and sly. His narrowed green eyes held a glint of greed and trouble, but yet he was still honest to a fault. His gift, or a curse he would call it, was that he could never tell a lie; and therefore he held no secrets. The people called him Simon.

Since Simon carried no secrets he went unseen by the blind boy, or so he thought. Though the other boy could not see a secret, he always felt like someone was walking in his shadow. Though most times he could deny it, there were times were it was almost maddening. To feel someone there, watching him, but never able to call out to them. Still, even at the worst of times the boy never quite understood what was there.

Simon on the other hand liked this arrangement, very much. Being a friend to a boy who knew not his caring, a twisted show at love he played. He was the boys’ only friend and yet a friend that only watched and waited. Watching his ridicule and watching him suffer. In the dark his eyes gleamed and he smiled with patience. Someday he would touch, someday he would love, and someday the boy would be his.

The towns’ people saw, they whispered and watched; the boys made a pair. The most honest of children, a constant reminder of deed left unpunished. Children they tried best to ignore, children’s whose eyes they tried never to meet; one pair white and pure the other greedy and discomforting.

So, Simon and the blind boy he watched over walked the streets from sun up to sun down. Simon, walking in the shadow of the blind, and the boy feeling his way with a walking stick, strolled through town. The whole time, Simon smiled as the boy was ignored by everyone except him.

Though a guardian he was, he wasn’t quite always there for the boy. Often he left the boy alone to wonder. On purpose mind you, for alone is when the villagers mocked him most cruelly. Still though, he was loyal to a fault. So he would always come home to an unawares friend; to comfort the boy silently with the weight of his shadow.

“He touches his daughter.” The boy spoke in a slow and emotionless tone as he stood in front of the Blacksmith…alone.

“Why you little liar!” The Blacksmith reached for his collar and grabbing ahold of it lifted the boy into the air and shook him harshly. It was the first time anyone had ever grabbed a hold of the boy so violently. From the force of the man’s grip the boy could hear the sound of his own shirt ripping and tearing. His feet far above the ground and yet he stayed still and silent as always. Inside though, for the first time ever, he did feel a small sliver of fear creep up his spine. For there was no one standing on his shadow and he found he missed the madness of that unknown presence.

The violence that the boy suddenly brought out of the villagers was unexpected, and yet it had been growing for a long time. They took out their anger, pain, and sadness on his small body for all the pain the boy had caused them. Anger drove them to kick at his stomach and legs, to scratch at his face and arms; mash dirt into his hair and yell with such raw hatred that again the boy felt afraid. Very afraid of what he was and what they said. He had never hated his gift till now. He had never hated at all for he didn’t understand it. Now that he felt truly alone without his shadow being trotted did he understand hate.

Once they had their fill they left him there.

The streets cleared, lanterns dimmed, and the boy lay there in the middle of the road. Eyes bruised, lip cut, his body hurt all over, and for the first time ever he was sad. He understood now how hated he was, how much pain he caused others, and how pointless his existence was if all he did was hurt. He didn’t cry though, instead he opened his eyes and willed them to see. He wanted to see their faces, he wanted to know what those hurt expressions looked like, and also he wanted to speak. To apologize, to beg someone to left his curse and allow him to speak something other than sin.

His fingers twitched as he moved his lips that could not form words. He felt for his shadow and found it empty of that heavy stranger that seemed to always be there, standing on it. How he wished for the weight of that presences…and to hear it whisper to him.

Simon, hidden in another shadow, watched for a long time. He waited for the boy to break, to become so desperate and lonely that he would search for him. He wanted the boy to call out to him in his own words. Beg for his presence. The blind boys’ face, though unmoving, told Simon everything he needed, so he watched and smiled as he did so.

After minutes of straining and forcing himself to stay conscious the boy slipped into a deep sleep. In this sleep he dreamed for the first time, no pictures, just voices and feelings. The feeling of being held and a strange new voice that sounded warm and bright. It was comforting as it laughed in the shadows and whispered intangible words. He wanted to call back, to laugh with it, and talk with it. He felt his lips moving, but nothing came out. He choked on air and suddenly he was drowning and trashing about. He felt his throat strain to choke out a scream and then he was awake; really awake and in his own bed.

In the house, were only he lived, he felt someone there. The feeling of being touched still molded into his skin. Being held and that laugh, was it really a dream? Had someone carried him here? No, not just someone, he knew who. His shadow stranger, all his life it had been there and all this time he hadn’t been able to focus on it. This person had been there, and now, now they had finally intervened and he wanted to see them.

Again, he babbled without audio and lifted his arms clumsily and felt for someone. No, not just anyone, his shadow. Stumbling out of bed he fell to his knees and began feeling across the floor. Shadow, shadow, where was his shadow. He knew it was here, but not where it was supposed to be.

Shadow.

Shadow…

Shadow!

“Here I am.” The soft velvety texture of the voice that whispered in his ear was far darker than that of his dream. Still, he froze and was lost in the moment of security he found in that voice when it spoke. He found it oddly reliving, even though this was the first time it had ever spoke; yet this person had been here for as long as he could remember.

It was the only thing that had always been here for him.

The boy stood to his feet, turned, stretched out his arms, and took a shake step forward. When he did the tips of his fingers bumped into a solid form. Instantly his cold fingers warmed and hands covered his and they pushed his own hands flat against their body.

“I am real, as real as you.” As the person spoke again the boy felt himself drawn to it even more. He was so relieved that he took two more steps and found himself wrapped up in a warm safe embrace.

Safe, such a strange word to describe a complete, and yet not so much, total stranger. Strong arms held his shoulders and long fingers ran through his hair; and a very hushed voice whispered in his ear;

“There there, it’s ok, I’ve got you. I will always have you.”

What he said the boy did not understand. A more twisted meaning was lanced in-between those soft words, but he did not know it. All the boy knew was that he needed this, how could he have been blind to his own need for human contact? He had never felt this at ease and he could honestly say that he had never once, a day in his life, felt at all.

He gripped Simon’s shirt, balling the scratchy fabric up in small fist fulls. His eyes, they stung with emotion, emotion that was new and frightening. His heart, he could feel it pounding in his chest, his breath caught in his throat and he began to gasp. He began to move his lips, open and close them repeatedly, trying to force words. He wanted to speak his own words, these feelings, he wanted this person to know how he felt, to know that he was…

“Ah…!” The tiny raspy sound grated over his teeth and slipped into the air around them like dust. A fragment of his feelings and it was gone as quickly as it had appeared. The boy’s throat ached like nothing he had ever felt before; it felt like it was on fire just from that one tiny sound.

“Oh, are you trying to speak?” The boy nodded and felt long fingers trailing over his cheeks, whipping the wet stuff away. “Is that why you’re crying?”

Crying, he had never cried before. Always a stone face, always unfeeling, was he even human at all? What did it mean to be human?

Simon soothed the boy once more with some whispers of sweetness; all the while he wore a grin of amusement and victory. Finally the boy was broken beyond repair, scared and alone for the first time ever. Comfort, love, safe arms, give a broken child these things and they will always want you.

He would make the boy never want to leave his side.

“You don’t have to speak, I know you, I’ve watched over you all these years. We’ve never needed words before. So dry your tears my darling. I will never harm you.” The boy felt a strange sensation of soft skin on his forehead. As they moved down his cheek he realized they were the other boy’s lips.

Simon’s fingers cups the boys chin and tilted his face up. Such a cute face he had, but those eyes of his. They were wide open, stark white and estrange with new found fear. Simon lend down and laid his lips gently against the boys.

The boy didn’t move, instead he felt a rush ripple through his body like warm water being poured over cold skin. Welcoming, inviting, yet demanding and intense. His knees went weak, but Simon held him up. Wrapping him once more in sturdy arms and pressing them closer together as Simon deepened their kiss.

When the kiss was finally over Simon had the boy panting. The boy’s face was flushed red all over and his skin burned. Simon ran this thumb over the boys’ now swollen and moist lips. His elegant fingers pushed strands of brown hair out of the boy’s eyes. Perfect, he was perfectly gentle and perfectly his. Forever, he would have him forever, like this; beautiful and at his mercy…under his control.

“You want to kill me.”

Simon froze still and his face drained of color. His eyes widened and he slowly stared downward at the boy, whose tiny fingers were still interlaced in his shirt.

“What?”

“You are going to kill me.” The monotone voice of his curse was combined with the silent tears that spilled from those mist white eyes. For a long moment Simon just stared for the boy had revealed a secret yet realized. Simon slowly began to smile and once more wiped the boys’ tears away.

“Yes, I believe I might just want that.”

Leaning down he caught the boy’s tiny lips once more in a kiss; and the boy, despite this new secret between them, clung to Simon and kissed him back.  


**Author's Note:**

> This is an older work and has many faults. Some day I hope to make it better.


End file.
